Private Lies

by Wendy Etherington

  “I’ve lived with cops all my life. You tend to absorb some of that stuff between pass the potatoes at the dinner table.”

  Who was this creature? Certainly not his Roxanne. Shy, sweet Roxanne who blushed prettily when he whispered sexual suggestions in her ear and liked to attend the ballet and symphony. His Roxanne didn’t calmly discuss the intricacies of mob retaliations.

  But as he looked at her ultralong, dark hair, dusky skin and the determination shining out of her green eyes, he reminded himself nothing would ever be the same after tonight. “It’ll be fine. I’ll work it out.”

  Concern crossed her face. “What if you don’t?” She paused. “Or can’t?”

  “Worried about me, Rox?”

  She said nothing for a moment, and, ridiculously, Gage found himself wanting her to throw her arms around him and sob against his chest. He wanted her to be worried. He wanted so very much for her to truly care. Would that weakness get them killed?

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I think I am.”

  With the pad of his thumb, he stroked her check. Tenderness and regret flowed through him. “I’m honored.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I should just leave you to Stephano’s wrath.” Her gaze roved his face—no doubt looking for the man she’d spent the last six months with, a man who didn’t exist.

  We were supposed to be married. He desperately wanted to ask where they stood, but felt selfish asking. He’d find a way to hold on to her. He had to.

  “But I can’t.” She tossed his clothes on the table and gulped coffee. “I stumbled into this case, putting you in jeopardy. I won’t leave you to deal with the consequences.”

  After all he’d done to her she was willing to help him? His heart hammered. “Go home,” he said quickly, before he could ask her to stay.

  She shook her head. “He’ll kill you.”

  While Stephano might certainly want to, or even try to, bigger and badder guys than him had found out the hard way that Gage Dabon wasn’t ready to meet St. Peter. “There’s nothing for you to do.”

  “He expects me there.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  She stamped her foot. “Why are you being so stubborn? You need me.”

  He did, but not professionally. He couldn’t allow her to risk herself—not for him and certainly not for Stephano—so he made his words sharp. “I don’t.”

  The Roxanne he knew would have bowed her head and turned away, hurt but not argumentative. This Roxanne—rather like much of the night—didn’t act as expected. “Yes, you do. Stephano will let his guard down around a woman. I can distract him.”

  Gage knew for certain Roxanne didn’t want the kind of attention Stephano would offer. He didn’t just want to smile and hold her hand. And Gage would strangle the murdering creep on the spot before he’d let him touch her. “No.”

  “I want to help.”

  “An experienced undercover cop could handle this, but not you.”

  She set her coffee mug on the table with a bang. “Damn you, Gage.”

  She could damn him all she wanted, but she’d be safe. He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.” Glancing at her head, he yanked off her wig.

  She tried to jerk away from him. “Ow!” She rubbed her hairline. “That was attached with bobby pins, you know.”

  “Sorry.” He tossed the wig on the sofa. Seeing Roxanne’s naturally red hair pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck made him feel more balanced. His Roxanne was under there after all. The stress of the night had obviously disturbed her greatly. That was the reason she’d impulsively offered to help. She didn’t really want anything to do with intrigue and danger. She’d told him so dozens of times.

  “No matter what’s between us, I won’t let them kill you.” She tried to wrench her arm from his grasp. “Dammit, Gage, I understand more than anybody about revenge. I’m not leaving.”

  Her mother.

  Hell. He empathized with her pain, but he couldn’t let her risk her life. The very idea was wild and irresponsible. Points that defined him professionally, but he couldn’t risk Roxanne. She meant too much.

  He dragged her to the door. “Sure you are.”

  “We’re meeting Stephano in the lobby in—” she glanced at her watch “—thirty-five minutes. But, hey, if you’re not around, I’m sure I can find the mob on my own. Are citizen’s arrests really valid?”

  Gage halted, glaring at her. “Damn you, Roxanne.”

  She smiled. “I thought you’d agree.”

  4

  ROXANNE TUGGED the neckline of her pantsuit. If she leaned over more than an inch—

  “Stop fidgeting,” Gage said sharply, his gaze pinned on the closed elevator doors. “You’re the kind of woman who wants every man within a mile staring at her chest.”

  She glared at him. “I know how to act. I fooled you earlier, remember?”

  A muscle along his jaw twitched.

  “Nobody’s watching now. I can adjust if I want.”

  His gaze flicked to the upper left corner of the elevator. “Nobody except the hotel security guard and whoever else happens to be wandering around his office.” He stared at her, his eyes dark, serious and worried. “Never let go of your cover. Someone is always watching.”

  She rolled her shoulders. Maybe he had a point. She really wished she had Toni with her for support and advice, but she’d called her friend and told her to go home, that she and Gage were trying to work things out together. One more lie on top of all the others.

  “Fine,” she snapped, avoiding Gage’s penetrating gaze to watch the floor numbers light in succession.

  It was going to be a long night, she decided. Ever since she’d forced Gage into accepting her help—or else risk his precious case—they’d snapped and barked at each other like a couple of dogs after the same bone.

  She was surprised by how much Gage’s lack of confidence in her hurt. Of course, she wasn’t trained for this kind of work, and she didn’t have any experience, and his life as well as hers hung in the balance of her actions, and—

  Frowning, she realized why he was so worried. How was she going to pull this off? Why was she even trying?

  She was an accountant. Exactly when had she become delusional enough to think she could imitate Mata Hari?

  Before she had time to dwell on her regrets, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.

  Gage laid his hand at the small of her back and urged her forward, and her heart leaped to her throat. “You’re doing fine,” he whispered close to her ear.

  Ridiculously, she was comforted by his presence. She might never trust Gage the man again, but she knew instinctively she could at least count on the cop.

  She nodded and forced a smile to her lips. She swung her hips as she walked, and pretended a confidence she didn’t feel. Roxanne might be an accountant, but Marina was a babe.

  “That’s some kind of walk you’ve got, Marina,” Gage whispered, his voice low and seductive.

  Roxanne’s stomach fluttered, and her confidence rose. She could do this.

  Babe, babe, babe… she repeated to herself as her high-heeled pumps clacked against the lobby’s marble floor. She kept her head high and concentrated on her hip-swaying, letting Gage guide her around a group of chattering tourists. She was so focused she didn’t see the impending disaster until it literally jumped out at her.

  Actually, until she jumped out.

  Toni, that is. From behind one of the potted palms scattered around the lobby.

  “Hey,” she said, grabbing Roxanne’s arm and tugging her behind the plant.

  Glancing around frantically, Roxanne shook off her friend’s grip. “I thought I told you to go home.”

  Blue eyes narrowed, Toni shook her head. Her blond, bobbed wig swung. “I’m not leaving you here with him.”

  She loved the stubborn woman, she really did, but now was not the time to tangle with Toni’s innate determination.

  Gage leaned toward Toni. “We’re working this out. We
need some time alone.”

  “So Roxanne said on the phone.” Toni crossed her arms over her chest. “Unconvincingly, I might add.”

  As much as she appreciated Toni’s protection, Roxanne silently swore. She shifted her gaze across the lobby, trying to inconspicuously spot Stephano and Mettles. If they saw Toni…

  She shivered. Finding herself in the middle of a mob sting was dangerous and surreal enough. Putting Toni in danger as well wasn’t a development she wanted to consider.

  “Go away, Toni,” Gage said, his gaze hard.

  Roxanne jabbed him with her elbow. “Don’t challenge her, for heaven’s sake.” She grabbed her friend’s hands. “Toni, I’m fine.” When she continued to glare, Roxanne added, “I’m safe with Gage. We have some…issues to work out.”

  “Blond issues?”

  Her suspicions of infidelity. Damn. Even if she told Toni her fears had turned out to be unfounded, her friend would still wonder. She’d wonder if Gage had managed to snow her. Toni had been with her too many times when Roxanne had been so snowed they’d needed a plow to dig her out. She had to find a way to convince Toni there was a logical explanation for Gage with a ponytail, who’d been caught in too many lies.

  “Gage’s auditioning for a play,” she blurted out.

  Toni rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

  Roxanne nodded frantically, even as Gage sighed. “Yep. Monday morning. So we only have a few days to work out the kinks in his performance.” She patted Toni’s shoulder. “You just go on home, and I’ll—”

  “What’s he playing?” Toni asked.

  “Uh…well…uh—” She glanced at Gage, then back at Toni. “An artist. Yep. An eccentric artist. Sort of an Italian Van Gogh thing.”

  “And what’s this play called?”

  “The Ponytail That Roared,” Roxanne returned without missing a beat.

  Toni rolled her eyes again. “Please.”

  “I’m okay. Really. I need you to go home. I’ll give you an update after the weekend.”

  Toni opened her mouth—no doubt to argue—then just as abruptly closed it. Her sharp blue gaze penetrated Roxanne’s until Roxanne wanted to flinch, but she didn’t, sensing her friend needed to see she was okay. “I don’t know what you two are up to,” she said finally, “and I don’t think I like it one bit, but at least he’s not holding you hostage.”

  Roxanne blinked. “Hostage? He wouldn’t—”

  After tonight she supposed she couldn’t begin a sentence concerning Gage with “he wouldn’t.” His lies and disguise, his being a cop, her being involved in a mob sting. Regardless, she was beyond being able to explain from behind the potted palm in the lobby of the Bayou Palace while she and Gage waited for a mob boss and his MIT-educated counterfeiting expert to arrive for dinner.

  “I’ll call you Monday,” she said firmly to Toni.

  Toni’s gaze slid to Gage. Suspicion flashed through her eyes, but she hugged Roxanne, then stepped back. “Before ten, or I’m calling the Cavalry.”

  In other words, her family. Damn. She’d better inform her dad of her plans. If he happened to phone her house, and she didn’t return his call, he’d have half the NOPD looking for her.

  “Before ten,” she promised. She watched Toni walk away, trim hips swaying in her tight pink suit.

  “At least now I know who taught you that walk,” Gage said from behind her.

  Roxanne elbowed him in the stomach.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, she sat in the lobby bar, pretending to sip champagne.

  Beside her, Gage scanned the room while appearing to simply enjoy her company.

  The act, naturally, had Roxanne zipping through her memories, searching other nights and other “dates” for falsehoods and inconsistencies. Would it always be like this? Would she always wonder where he was? Where he’d been?

  She shook her head. No. It wouldn’t always be anything. After this weekend, her relationship with Gage was over. O-V-E-R. She wanted nothing to do with his lifestyle. The lies. The danger. She wanted a family someday. A normal house. Children. She didn’t want to worry about her husband carrying a gun, playing games of intrigue with criminals, on a stakeout, testifying against society’s worst.

  Yet, at the same time, her heart hammered with an odd kind of excitement. Had balancing accounts ever caused this kind of nervous, yet electrifying, anticipation?

  Uh, no.

  Numbers are safe, numbers are safe, she repeated silently to herself, squashing the idea that she might actually be enjoying the espionage. She reached into her purse for her cell phone and began dialing her father’s house.

  Gage’s hand covered hers. “Who are you calling?”

  “None of your business,” she retorted, crossing her legs and holding the phone to her ear.

  Gage simply pulled the phone from her grasp. But before she could do more than gasp at his arrogance, he’d glanced at the digital screen and handed it back. “Keep it brief.”

  She jerked the phone to her ear just in time to hear her dad’s commanding voice say “…leave a message at the tone.” After the obligatory beep, Roxanne told the machine that she and Gage had decided to get away for the weekend, and if her dad needed to get in touch with her, he should call her cell phone.

  The moment she concluded the call, Gage lifted his crystal tumbler from the bar. With the glass against his lips, he commented, “Nicely done. Now turn off the phone. I don’t want it ringing during dinner.”

  Though seeing the sense in his advice, Roxanne glared at him. What had ever possessed her to feel obligated to save his miserable hide? He was domineering, arrogant, high-handed, dangerous…

  Tender, loving…lonely.

  She sighed and did as he’d asked. She wasn’t likely to resolve her feelings for Gage in a night. Maybe not even in a lifetime.

  She took a tiny sip of champagne. Though she felt sober as a nun, she knew from her cop family that sobriety was an illusive concept. She needed to pace herself with Stephano and his hard-partying crowd. “Where are they?”

  Gage obviously didn’t need an explanation of they. “Stalling. Purposely.” He laid his forearms casually against the bar, while she leaned her back against the polished wood and faced the tables scattered around the drinking and lounging area. She wondered about the positioning but didn’t ask. Maybe this way, with Gage’s back to the room, was his idea of showing these people he trusted them, which he most certainly didn’t.

  “It’s a power thing,” he continued. “They want me waiting on them.” He shrugged his broad shoulders—and Roxanne convinced herself she didn’t remember their breadth and muscle at all. “It’s part of the game I can live with. Though it is somewhat high school. Like pretending to be cool so you can belong to the popular crowd.”

  “Gage, you don’t have to pretend to be cool.”

  His smile flashed, quick and unexpected.

  The sight of those straight white teeth put Roxanne’s libido on edge. How weird was that?

  “I think that was a compliment.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  “Still pissed?”

  “Immensely.”

  “I guess that means sex is out the question.”

  Despite the seriousness—and, she had to admit, the temptation of his offer—Roxanne had to bite back a smile. “Way out.”

  Then she saw them. Stephano and Mettles strolled out of the elevators, with the computer engineer scuffling at his boss’s heels. Stephano held his head high, his posture proud and erect. His silver hair glinted off the chandeliers. He looked for all the world like a successful businessman, comfortable with his posh surroundings. Roxanne wondered how many people realized his aura of wealth and power came at the expense of others’ suffering.

  “They’re here,” Gage said quietly.

  Roxanne stared at him. “How did you—”

  “You’ve got a hell of a grip, Marina.”

  Roxanne glanced at her hand, which was currently squeezing the life out of Gage
’s bicep. She let go and fought to calm her racing heart. “Sorry.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just smile a lot and say as little as possible.”

  “Gee, Gage, how will I ever manage that? I’d so looked forward to discussing trends in computer engineering with Mr. Mettles.”

  “Your tongue is unusually sharp tonight, my dear.”

  “It’s either that or I fall to the floor in terrified hysterics.”

  He slid his strong, warm hand over hers, lifting her wrist to his lips. “I’ll take the tongue any day.”

  Pulse zipping, Roxanne stared at him. Even with dark brown eyes, the intensity in his expression did amazing things to her pulse. In a way, she wished she could rewind to when she’d been blissfully unaware of Gage’s other life, when she’d spent every moment with him basking in his attention and the desire they shared. She wanted his touch again so desperately she nearly asked him to hold her, but her conscience, thankfully, prodded and nagged and reminded her why that would be a really lousy idea at the moment.

  “Angelini and the lovely Miss Marina,” Stephano said. His tone pushed for charm, but somehow still managed to sound oily.

  While Roxanne smiled wanly, Gage laid a twenty on the bar and rose. “Ready?”

  Stephano extended his arm. “My limo’s out front.” His icy blue gaze dropped briefly to Roxanne’s cleavage as she stood.

  Resisting the urge to cringe, Roxanne shamelessly clung to Gage as they walked from the bar and out the lobby doors. The ever-present humidity hit her face like a damp blanket, and sweat immediately popped out between her breasts. The temperature, along with the sight of the shiny but ominous-looking black stretch limo parked at the curb, caused a sick roll through her stomach.

  Gage kept his hand on her waist as they ducked inside the plush interior. His presence brought her some comfort, though she wasn’t sure what he could do if Stephano decided they were expendable and chose to shoot them, then dump their bodies in Lake Pontchartrain.

  Would asking to check the trunk for cement be too obvious?

  As the limo pulled away, Stephano prepared himself, then Gage, yet another drink. These two were going to be out on the floor in a minute.

  He and Gage launched into a conversation about the stock market, while Roxanne turned her head and watched the lights of the city roll by. The hotels, restaurants and shops were familiar. This was her city; the place she’d lived all her life. Yet tonight it seemed distant and stifling. She was trapped in this car, trapped in another life.